OTLEY 

D  OTHER  poem:: 


,LTER  DE  LA  MARE 


University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


nWii^d^LUMiv 


MOTLEY 

AND    OTHER    POEMS 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

THE  LISTENERS  and  Other  Poems 

PEACOCK  PIE.    A  Book  of  Rhymes 
With  illustrations  by  W.  Heath  Robinson 


MOTLEY 

AND  OTHER  POEMS 

BY 

WALTER  DE  LA  MARE 


NEW  YORK 

HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 
1918 


COPTRIOHT,  1918, 
BY 

HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 


Published  May,  1918 


NOTE 

The  author  wishes  to  thank  the  Editors 
of  the  English  Review,  the  Times,  the  New 
Statesman,  Form,  the  Gipsy,  the  Yale  Re- 
view, and  the  Westminster  Gazette  for 
permission  to  reprint  poems  included  in 
this  volume. 

A  selection  from  among  the  poems  in- 
cluded in  this  volume  has  been  published 
in  a  limited  edition  in  a  volume  issued  by 
the  Beaumont  Press. 


CONTENTS 

FACE 

THE    LITTLE    SALAMANDER           ....  I 

THE   LINNET .2 

THE  SUNKEN   GARDEN 3 

THE  RIDDLERS 4 

MOONLIGHT 7 

THE  BLIND  BOY 8 

THE    QUARRY 9 

MRS.  GRUNDY 10 

THE  TRYST 12 

ALONE 14 

THE  EMPTY   HOUSE 1 5 

MISTRESS  FELL I7 

THE  GHOST I9 

THE   STRANGER 21 

BETRAYAL 23 

THE  CAGE 24 

THE  REVENANT .25 

vii 


VIU 

MUSIC 

THE  REMONSTRANCE 

NOCTURNE    . 

THE  EXILE   . 

THE  UNCHANGING 

NIGHTFALL 

INVOCATION 

EYES       . 

LIFE 

THE  DISGUISE       . 

VAIN  QUESTIONING 

VIGIL     . 

THE  OLD  MEN      . 

THE  DREAMER      . 

HAPPY    ENGLAND 

MOTLEY 

THE    MARIONETTES 

TO  E.  T. :  1917  . 

APRIL    MOON 
THE  fool's  SONG 
CLEAR    EYES 


Contents 


PAGE 

DUST  TO  DUST       . 

i- 

•     59 

THE  THREE  STRANGERS      . 

'        i« 

i         « 

.    60 

ALEXANDER            ., 

»         i« 

»         I 

»;           1 

.     62 

THE  REAWAKENING    . 

.    64 

THE  VACANT  DAY 

.■ 

.     66 

THE    FLIGHT 

.     68 

THE  TWO   HOUSES        . 

69 

FOR  ALL  THE  GRIEF   . 

.     71 

THE  SCRIBE 

.     72 

FARE  WELL  . 

.     74 

THE  LITTLE  SALAMANDER 

TO    MARGOT 

When  I  go  free, 

I  think  'twill  be 

A  night  of  stars  and  snow, 

And  the  wild  fires  of  frost  shall  light 

My  footsteps  as  I  go; 

Nobody — nobody  will  be  there 

With  groping  touch,  or  sight, 

To  see  me  in  my  bush  of  hair 

Dance  burning  through  the  night. 


THE  LINNET 

Upon  this  leafy  bush 

With  thorns  and  roses  in  it, 

Flutters  a  thing  of  light, 

A  twittering  linnet. 

And  all  the  throbbing  world 

Of  dew  and  sun  and  air 

By  this  small  parcel  of  life 

Is  made  more  fair; 

As  if  each  bramble-spray 

And  mounded  gold-wreathed  furze, 

Harebell  and  little  thyme, 

Were  only  hers; 

As  if  this  beauty  and  grace 

Did  to  one  bird  belong. 

And,  at  a  flutter  of  wing. 

Might  vanish  in  song. 


THE  SUNKEN  GARDEN 

Speak  not — whisper  not; 
Here  bloweth  thyme  and  bergamot; 
Softly  on  the  evening  hour, 
Secret  herbs  their  spices  shower, 
Dark-spiked  rosemary  and  myrrh, 
Lean-stalked,  purple  lavender; 
Hides  within  her  bosom,  too, 
All  her  sorrows,  bitter  rue. 

Breathe  not — trespass  not; 
Of  this  green  and  darkling  spot. 
Latticed  from  the  moon's  beams. 
Perchance  a  distant  dreamer  dreams ; 
Perchance  upon  its  darkening  air. 
The  unseen  ghosts  of  children  fare, 
Faintly  swinging,  sway  and  sweep. 
Like  lovely  sea-flowers  in  its  deep ; 
While,  unmoved,  to  watch  and  ward, 
'Mid  its  gloomed  and  daisied  sward, 
Stands  with  bowed  and  dewy  head 
That  one  little  leaden  Lad. 
3 


THE  RIDDLERS 

'  Thou  solitary ! '  the  Blackbird  cried, 

*  I,  from  the  happy  Wren, 

Linnet  and  Blackcap,  Woodlark,  Thrush, 

Perched  all  upon  a  sweetbrier  bush, 

Have  come  at  cold  of  midnight-tide 

To  ask  thee,  Why  and  when 

Grief  smote  thy  heart  so  thou  dost  sing 

In  solemn  hush  of  evening, 

So  sorrowfully,  lovelorn  Thing — 

Nay,  nay,  not  sing,  but  rave,  but  wail, 

Most  melancholic  Nightingale? 

Do  not  the  dews  of  darkness  steep 

All  pinings  of  the  day  in  sleep  ? 

Why,  then,  when  rocked  in  starry  nest 

We  mutely  couch,  secure,  at  rest. 

Doth  thy  lone  heart  delight  to  make 

Music  for  sorrow's  sake  ? ' 


The  Riddlers 

A  Moon  was  there.    So  still  her  beam, 
It  seemed  the  whole  world  lay  a-dream, 
Lulled  by  the  watery  sea. 
And  from  her  leafy  night-hung  nook 
Upon  this  stranger  soft  did  look 
The  Nightingale :  sighed  he : — 

*  'Tis  strange,  my  friend ;  the  Kingfisher 

But  yestermorn  conjured  me  here 

Out  of  his  green  and  gold  to  say 

Why  thou,  in  splendour  of  the  noon, 

Wearest  of  colour  but  golden  shoon. 

And  else  dost  thee  array 

In  a  most  sombre  suit  of  black? 

"  Surely,"  he  sighed,  "  some  load  of  grief, 

Past  all  our  thinking — and  belief — 

Must  weigh  upon  his  back !  " 

Do,  then,  in  turn,  tell  me.  If  joy 

Thy  heart  as  well  as  voice  employ. 

Why  dost  thou  now,  most  Sable,  shine 

In  plumage  woefuller  far  than  mine? 

Thy  silence  is  a  sadder  thing 

Than  any  dirge  I  sing ! ' 


6  The  Riddlers 

Thus  then  these  two  small  birds,  perched  there, 

Breathed  a  strange  riddle  both  did  share 

Yet  neither  could  expound. 

And  we — who  sing  but  as  we  can. 

In  the  small  knowledge  of  a  man — 

Have  we  an  answer  found? 

Nay,  some  are  happy  whose  delight 

Is  hid  even  from  themselves  from  sight; 

And  some  win  peace  who  spend 

The  skill  of  words  to  sweeten  despair 

Of  finding  consolation  where 

Life  has  but  one  dark  end; 

Who,  in  rapt  solitude,  tell  o'er 

A  tale,  as  lovely  as  forlore, 

Into  the  midnight  air. 


MOONLIGHT 

The  far  moon  maketh  lovers  wise 
In  her  pale  beauty  trembling  down, 

Lending  curved  cheeks,  dark  lips,  dark  eyes, 
A  strangeness  not  their  own. 

And,  though  they  shut  their  lids  to  kiss, 

In  starless  darkness  peace  to  win, 

Even  on  that  secret  world  from  this 
Her  twilight  enters  in. 


THE  BLIND  BOY 

'  I  HAVE  no  master/  said  the  Blind  Boy, 
My  mother,  "Dame  Venus,"  they  do  call; 
Cowled  in  this  hood,  she  sent  me  begging 
For  whatever  in  pity  may  befall. 

*  Hard  was  her  visage,  me  adjuring, — 
"  Have  no  fond  mercy  on  the  kind ! 
Here  be  sharp  arrows,  bunched  in  quiver, 
Draw  close  ere  striking — thou  art  blind." 

*  So  stand  I  here,  my  woes  entreating, 
In  this  dark  alley,  lest  the  Moon 

Point  with  her  sparkling  my  barbed  armoury, 
Shine  on  my  silver-laced  shoon. 

*  Oh,  sir,  unkind  this  Dame  to  me-ward ; 
Of  the  salt  billow  was  her  birth.   .    .    . 
In  your  sweet  charity  draw  nearer 
The  saddest  rogue  on  Earth!' 


8 


THE  QUARRY 

You  hunted  me  with  all  the  pack, 
Too  blind,  too  blind,  to  see 
By  no  wild  hope  of  force  or  greed 
Could  you  make  sure  of  me. 

And  like  a  phantom  through  the  glades, 
With  tender  breast  aglow, 
The  goddess  in  me  laughed  to  hear 
Your  horns  a-roving  go. 

She  laughed  to  think  no  mortal  e'er 
By  dint  of  mortal  flesh 
The  very  Cause  that  was  the  Hunt 
One  moment  could  enmesh: 

That  though  with  captive  limbs  I  lay, 
Stilled  breath  and  vanquished  eyes. 
He  that  hunts  Love  with  horse  and  hound 
Hunts  out  his  heart  and  eyes. 


MRS.  GRUNDY 

'  Step  very  softly,  sweet  Quiet-foot, 
Stumble  not,  whisper  not,  smile  not : 
By  this  dark  ivy  stoop  cheek  and  brow. 
Still  even  thy  heart !    What  seest  thou  ?  ' 

*  High-coifed,  broad-browed,  aged,  suave  yet 

grim, 
A  large  flat  face,  eyes  keenly  dim, 
Staring  at  nothing — that's  me! — and  yet, 
With  a  hate  one  could  never,  no,  never  for- 
get .    .    .' 

'  This  is  my  world,  my  garden,  my  home. 
Hither  my  father  bade  mother  to  come 
And  bear  me  out  of  the  dark  into  light, 
And  happy  I  was  in  her  tender  sight. 

'  And  then,  thou  frail  flower,  she  died  and 

went. 
Forgetting  my  pitiless  banishment, 


Mrs.  Grundy  II 

And  that  Old  Woman — an  Aunt — she  said, 
Came  hither,  lodged,  fattened,  and  made  her 
bed. 

*  Oh  yes,  thou  most  blessed,  from  Monday  to 

Sunday 
Has  lived  on  me,  preyed  on  me,  Mrs.  Grundy : 
Called  me,  "  dear  Nephew  " ;  on  each  of  those 

chairs 
Has    gloated    in    righteousness,    heard    my 

prayers. 

Why  didst  thou  dare  the  thorns  of  the  grove, 
Timidest  trespasser,  huntress  of  love  ? 
Now  thou  hast  peeped,  and  now  dost  know 
What  kind  of  creature  is  thine  for  foe. 

*  Not  that  she  'II  tear  out  thy  innocent  eyes, 
Poison  thy  mouth  with  deviltries. 

Watch  thou,  wait  thou :  soon  will  begin 
The  guile  of  a  voice :  hark  !...'*  Come  in. 
Come  in ! ' 


THE  TRYST 

Flee  into  some  forgotten  night  and  be 
Of  all  dark  long  my  moon-bright  company : 
Beyond  the  rumour  even  of  Paradise  come, 
There,   out   of   all   remembrance,   make   our 

home: 
Seek  we  some  close  hid  shadow  for  our  lair, 
Hollowed  by  Noah^s  mouse  beneath  the  chair 
Wherein  the  Omnipotent,  in  slumber  bound. 
Nods  till  the  piteous   Trump   of   Judgment 

sound. 
Perchance  Leviathan  of  the  deep  sea 
Would  lease  a  lost  mermaiden's  grot  to  me. 
There    of    your    beauty    we    would    joyance 

make — 
A  music  wistful  for  the  sea-nymph's  sake : 
Haply  Elijah,  o'er  his  spokes  of  fire, 
Cresting  steep  Leo,  or  the  heavenly  Lyre, 
Spied,  tranced  in  azure  of  inanest  space. 
Some  eyrie  hostel,  meet  for  human  grace, 

12 


The  Tryst  13 

Where  two  might  happy  be — just  you  and  I — 
Lost  in  the  uttermost  of  Eternity. 

Think !  in  Timers  smallest  clock's  minutest  beat 
Might  there  not  rest  be  found  for  wandering 

feet? 
Or,  'twixt  the  sleep  and  wake  of  a  Helen's 

dream, 
Silence  wherein  to  sing  love's  requiem? 

No,  no.    Nor  earth,  nor  air,  nor  fire,  nor  deep 
Could  lull  poor  mortal  longingness  asleep. 
Somewhere  there  Nothing  is;  and  there  lost 

Man 
Shall  win  what  changeless  vague  of  peace  he 

can. 


1     I 


m 


ALONE 

The  abode  of  the  nightingale  is  bare, 
Flowered  frost  congeals  in  the  gelid  air, 
The  fox  howls  from  his  frozen  lair: 

Alas,  my  loved  one  is  gone, 

I  am  alone : 

It  is  winter. 

Once  the  pink  cast  a  winy  smell, 

The  wild  bee  hung  in  the  hyacinth  bell. 

Light  in  effulgence  of  beauty  fell  : 

Alas,  my  loved  one  is  gone, 

I  am  alone: 

It  is  winter. 

My  candle  a  silent  fire  doth  shed, 

Starry  Orion  hunts  overhead; 

Come  moth,  come  shadow,  the  world  is  dead : 

Alas,  my  loved  one  is  gone, 

I  am  alone : 

It  is  winter. 
14 


\ 


THE  EMPTY  HOUSE 

See  this  house,  how  dark  it  is 
Beneath  its  vast-boughed  trees ! 
Not  one  trembling  leaflet  cries 
To  that  Watcher  in  the  skies — 

*  Remove,  remove  thy  searching  gaze, 
Innocent,  of  heaven's  ways, 

Brood  not.  Moon,  so  wildly  bright, 
On  secrets  hidden  from  sight/ 

*  Secrets,'  sighs  the  night-wind, 

*  Vacancy  is  all  I  find ; 
Every  keyhole  I  have  made 
Wail  a  summons,  faint  and  sad. 
No  voice  ever  answers  me. 

Only  vacancy.' 

*  Once,  once   .    .    . '  the  cricket  shrills. 
And  far  and  near  the  quiet  fills 
With  its  tiny  voice,  and  then 

Hush  falls  again. 
15 


The  Empty  House 

Mute  shadows  creef^ng  slow 
Mark  how  the  hours  go. 
Every  stone  is  mouldering  slow. 
And  the  least  winds  that  blow 
Some  minutest  atom  shake, 
Some  fretting  ruin  make 
In  roof  and  walls.     How  black  it  is 
Beneath  these  thick-boughed  trees! 


MISTRESS  FELL 

'  Whom  seek  you  here,  sweet  Mistress  Fell  ? ' 

*  One  who  loved  me  passing  well. 
Dark  his  eye,  wild  his  face — 
Stranger,  if  in  this  lonely  place 
Bide  such  an  one,  then,  prythee,  say 
/  am  come  here  to-day/ 

*  Many  his  like.  Mistress  Fell  ?  ' 
*■  I  did  not  look,  so  cannot  tell. 
Only  this  I  surely  know, 

When  his  voice  called  me,  I  must  go; 
Touched  me  his  fingers,  and  my  heart 
Leapt  at  the  sweet  pain's  smart.' 

*  Why  did  he  leave  you,  Mistress  Fell?,' 

*  Magic  laid  its  dreary  spell. — 
Stranger,  he  was  fast  asleep; 
Into  his  dream  I  tried  to  creep; 
Called  his  name,  soft  was  my  cry; 
He  answered — not  one  sigh. 

17 


1 8  Mistress  Fell 

'The  flower  and  the  thorn  are  here; 
Falleth  the  night-dew,  cold  and  clear; 
Out  of  her  bower  the  bird  replies, 
Mocking  the  dark  with  ecstasies, 
See  how  the  earth's  green  grass  doth  grow, 
Praising  what  sleeps  below! 

*  Thus  have  they  told  me.    And  I  come, 
As  flies  the  wounded  wild-bird  home. 
Not  tears  I  give;  but  all  that  he 
Clasped  in  his  arms,  sweet  charity; 
All  that  he  loved — to  him  I  bring 
For  a  close  whispering.' 


THE  GHOST 

'Who  knocks?'     *  I,  who  was  beautiful, 
Beyond  all  dreams  to  restore, 
I,  from  the  roots  of  the  dark  thorn  am  hither, 
And  knock  on  the  door/ 

*Who  speaks?*     *I — once  was  my  speech 
Sweet  as  the  bird's  on  the  air. 
When  echo  lurks  by  the  waters  to  heed; 
*Tis  I  speak  thee  fair/ 

*  Dark  is  the  hour ! '    '  Ay,  and  cold.' 
'  Lone  is  my  house.'    *  Ah,  but  mine  ?  ' 

'  Sight,  touch,  lips,  eyes  yearned  in  vain.' 

*  Long  dead  these  to  thine  .    .    . ' 

Silence.    Still  faint  on  the  porch 
Brake  the  flames  of  the  stars. 
In  gloom  groped  a  hope-wearied  hand 
Over  keys,  bolts,  and  bars. 
19 


20  The  Ghost 

A  face  peered.    All  the  grey  night 
In  chaos  of  vacancy  shone; 
Nought  but  vast  Sorrow  was  there — 
The  sweet  cheat  gone. 


A 


THE  STRANGER 

In  the  woods  as  I  did  walk, 
Dappled  with  the  moon's  beam, 
I  did  with  a  Stranger  talk, 
And  his  name  was  Dream. 

Spurred  his  heel,  dark  his  cloak, 
Shady-wide  his  bonnefs  brim; 
His  horse  beneath  a  silvery  oak 
Grazed  as  I  talked  with  him. 

Softly  his  breast-brooch  burned  and  shone ; 
Hill  and  deep  were  in  his  eyes; 
One  of  his  hands  held  mine,  and  one 
The  fruit  that  makes  men  wise. 

Wonderly  strange  was  earth  to  see, 
Flowers  white  as  milk  did  gleam; 
Spread  to  Heaven  the  Assyrian  Tree, 
Over  my  head  with  Dream. 

21 


22  The  Stranger 

Dews  were  still  betwixt  us  twain; 
Stars  a  trembling  beauty  shed; 
Yet — not  a  whisper  comes  again 
Of  the  words  he  said. 


' 


BETRAYAL 

She  will  not  die,  they  say, 
She  will  but  put  her  beauty  by 
And  hie  away. 

Oh,  but  her  beauty  gone,  how  lonely 
Then  will  seem  all  reverie, 
How  black  to  me! 

All  things  will  sad  be  made 
And  every  hope  a  memory. 
All  gladness  dead.' 

Ghosts  of  the  past  will  know 
My  weakest  hour,  and  whisper  to  me, 
And  coldly  go. 

And  hers  in  deep  of  sleep. 
Clothed  in  its  mortal  beauty  I  shall  see. 
And,  waking,  weep. 

Naught  will  my  mind  then  find 
In  man^s  false  Heaven  my  peace  to  be: 
All  blind,  and  blind. 
23 


THE  CAGE 

Why  did  you  flutter  in  vain  hope,  poor  bird, 
Hard-pressed  in  your  small  cage  of  clay? 
Twas  but  a  sweet,  false  echo  that  you  heard, 
Caught  only  a  feint  of  day. 

Still  is  the  night  all  dark,  a  homeless  dark. 
Burn  yet  the  unanswering  stars.    And  silence 

brings 
The  same  sea's  desolate  surge — sans  bound  or 

mark — 

Of  all  your  wanderings. 

Fret  now  no  more;  be  still.    Those  steadfast 

eyes, 
Those  folded  hands,  they  cannot  set  you  free ; 
Only  with  beauty  wake  wild  memories — 
Sorrow   for  where  you  are,   for  where  you 

would  be. 


THE  REVENANT 

O  ALL  ye  fair  ladies  with  your  colours  and 

your  graces, 
And  your  eyes  clear  in  flame  of  candle  and 

hearth, 
To'rd  the  dark  of  this  old  window  lift  not  up 

your  smiling  faces. 
Where  a  Shade  stands  forlorn  from  the  cold 

of  the  earth. 

God  knows  I  could  not  rest  for  one  I  still  was 

thinking  of; 
Like  a  rose  sheathed  in  beauty  her  spirit  was 

to  me; 
Now  out  of  unforgottenness  a  bitter  draught 

I'm  drinking  of, 
Tis  sad  of  such  beauty  unremembered  to  be. 

Men  all  are  shades,  O  Women. — Winds  wist 

not  of  the  way  they  blow. 
Apart  from  your  kindness,  life's  at  best  but  a 

snare. 

as 


26  The  Revenant 

Though  a  tongue  now  past  praise  this  bitter 

thing  doth  say,  I  know 
What  solitude  means,  and  how,  homeless,  I 

fare. 

Strange,  strange,  are  ye  all — except  in  beauty 

shared  with  her — 
Since  I  seek  one  I  loved,  yet  was  faithless  to 

in  death. 
Not  life  enough  I  heaped,  so  thus  my  heart 

must  fare  with  her, 
Now  wrapt  in  the  gross  clay,  bereft  of  lifers 

breath. 


MUSIC 

When  music  sounds,  gone  is  the  earth  I  know, 
And  all  her  lovely  things  even  lovelier  grow; 
Her  flowers  in  vision  flame,  her  forest  trees, 
Lift  burdened  branches,  stilled  with  ecstasies. 

When  music  sounds,  out  of  the  water  rise 
Naiads  whose  beauty  dims  my  waking  eyes. 
Rapt  in  strange  dream  burns  each  enchanted 

face, 
With  solemn  echoing  stirs  their  dwelling-place. 

When  music  sounds,  all  that  I  was  I  am 
Ere  to  this  haunt  of  brooding  dust  I  came ; 
While  from  Time's  woods  break  into  distant 

song 
The  swift-winged  hours,  as  I  hasten  along. 


Vf 


THE  REMONSTRANCE 

I  WAS  at  peace  until  you  came 
And  set  a  careless  mind  aflame. 
I  lived  in  quiet;  cold,  content; 
All  longing  in  safe  banishment, 
Until  your  ghostly  lips  and  eyes 
Made  wisdom  unwise. 

Naught  was  in  me  to  tempt  your  feet 
To  seek  a  lodging.     Quite  forgot 
Lay  the  sweet  solitude  we  two 
In  childhood  used  to  wander  through; 
Time's  cold  had  closed. my  heart  about; 
And  shut  you  out. 

Well,  and  what  then?  .    .    .  O  vision  grave, 
Take  all  the  little  all  I  have ! 
Strip  me  of  what  in  voiceless  thought 
Life's  kept  of  life,  unhoped,  unsought! — 
Reverie  and  dream  that  memory  must 
Hide  deep  in  dust! 
28 


The  Remonstrance  29 

This  only  I  say, — Though  cold  and  bare 
The  haunted  house  you  have  chosen  to  share, 
Still  'neath  its  walls  the  moonbeam  goes 
And  trembles  on  the  untended  rose; 
Still  o'er  its  broken  roof -tree  rise 
The  starry  arches  of  the  skies; 
And  'neath  your  lightest  word  shall  be 
The  thunder  of  an  ebbing  sea. 


NOCTURNE 

Tis  not  my  voice  now  speaks;  but  as  a  bird 
In  darkling  forest  hollows  a  sweet  throat — 
Pleads  on  till  distant  echo  too  hath  heard 

And  doubles  every  note : 
So  love  that  shrouded  dwells  in  mystery 

Would  cry  and  waken  thee. 

Thou  Solitary,  stir  in  thy  still  sleep; 

All  the  night  waits  thee,  yet  thou  still  dream'st 

on. 
Furtive  the  shadows  that  about  thee  creep, 
And  cheat  the  shining  footsteps  of  the  moon: 
Unseal  thine  eyes,  it  is  my  heart  that  sings. 

And  beats  in  vain  its  wings. 

Lost  in  heaven's  vague,  the  stars  burn  softly 

thro' 
The  world's  dark  latticings,  we  prisoned  stray 
Within  its  lovely  labyrinth,  and  know 

Mute  seraphs  guard  the  way 
Even  from  silence  unto  speech,  from  love 
To  that  self's  self  it  still  is  dreaming  of. 

30 


THE  EXILE 

I  AM  that  Adam  who,  with  Snake  for  guest, 
Hid  anguished  eyes  upon  Eve's  piteous  breast. 
I  am  that  Adam  who,  with  broken  wings. 
Fled  from  the  Seraph's  brazen  trumpetings. 
Betrayed  and  fugitive,  I  still  must  roam 
A  world  where  sin — and  beauty — whisper  of 
Home. 

Oh,  from  wide  circuit,  shall  at  length  I  see 
Pure  daybreak  lighten  again  on  Eden's  tree? 
Loosed   from  remorse  and  hope  and  love's 

distress, 
Enrobe  me  again  in  my  lost  nakedness? 
No  more  with   wordless  grief  a  loved  one 

grieve, 
But  to  heaven's  nothingness  re-welcome  Eve? 


31 


THE  UNCHANGING 

After  the  songless  rose  of  evening, 

Night  quiet,  dark,  still. 
In  nodding  cavalcade  advancing 

Starred  the  deep  hill : 
You,  in  the  valley  standing. 

In  your  quiet  wonder  took 
All  that  glamour,  peace,  and  mystery 

In  one  grave  look. 
Beauty  hid  your  naked  body. 

Time  dreamed  in  your  bright  hair, 
In  your  eyes  the  constellations 

Burned  far  and  fair. 


NIGHTFALL 

The  last  light  fails — that  shallow  pool  of  day ! 
The  coursers  of  the  dark  stamp  down  to  drink, 
Arch  their  wild  necks,  lift  their  wild  heads  and 

neigh; 
Their  drivers,  gathering  at  the  water-brink. 
With  eyes  ashine  from  out  their  clustering  hair, 
Utter  their  hollow  speech,  or  gaze  afar. 
Rapt  in  irradiant  reverie,  to  where 
Languishes,  lost  in  light,  the  evening  star. 

Come  the  wood-nymphs  to  dance  within  the 

glooms. 
Calling  these  charioteers  with  timbrels*  din; 
Ashen  with  twilight  the  dark  forest  looms 
O'er  the  nocturnal  beasts  that  prowl  within 
Thorn-roofed    thicket,    where    sweet    waters 

gush. 
Resounding  roar  wild  torrent,  hungry  throat; 
While  in  the  dew-drowsed  branches'  ebon  hush. 
Pouring  lament  of  joy,  the  night  birds  float. 

33 


34  ^Nightfall 

'O  glory  of  beauty  which  the  world  makes 

fair!' 
Pant  they  their  serenading  on  the  air. 

Sound  the  loud  hooves,  and  all  abroad  the  sky 
The  lusty  charioteers  their  stations  take; 
Planet  to  planet  do  the  sweet  Loves  fly, 
And  in  the  zenith  silver  music  wake. 
Cities  of  men,  in  blindness  hidden  low. 
Fume    their    faint    flames    to    that    arched 

firmament, 
But  all  the  dwellers  in  the  lonely  know 
The   unearthly   are   abroad,   and   weary   and 

spent. 
With  rush  extinguished,  to  their  dreaming  go. 
And    world   and    night   and    star-enclustered 

space 
The  glory  of  beauty  are  in  one  enravished  face. 


INVOCATION 

The  burning  fire  shakes  in  the  night, 
On  high  her  silver  candles  gleam, 

With  far-flung  arms  enflamed  with  light, 
The  trees  are  lost  in  dream. 

Come  in  thy  beauty!  'tis  my  love, 
Lost  in  far-wandering  desire, 

Hath  in  the  darkling  deep  above 
Set  stars  and  kindled  fire. 


35 


EYES 

O  STRANGE  devices  that  alone  divide 

The  seer  from  the  seen — 

The  very  highway  of  earth's  pomp  and  pride 

That  lies  between 

The  traveller  and  the  cheating,  sweet  delight 

Of  where  he  longs  to  be, 

But  which,  bound  hand  and  foot,  he,  close  on 

night, 
Can  only  see. 


36 


LIFE 

Hearken,  O  dear,  now  strikes  the  hour  we 

die; 
We,  who  in  one  strange  kiss 
Have  proved  a  dream  the  world's  realities, 
Turned  each  from  other's  darkness  with  a  sigh. 
Need  heed  no  more  of  life,  waste  no  more 

breath 
On  any  other  journey,  but  of  death. 

And  yet:  Oh,  know  we  well 

How  each  of  us  must  prove  Love's  infidel; 

Still  out  of  ecstasy  turn  trembling  back 

To  earth's  same  empty  track 

Of  leaden  day  by  day,  and  hour  by  hour, 

and  be 
Of  all  things  lovely  the  cold  mortuary. 


37 


THE  DISGUISE 

Why  in  my  heart,  O  Grief, 
Dost  thou  in  beauty  bide? 
Dead  is  my  well-content, 
And  buried  deep  my  pride. 
Cold  are  their  stones,  beloved. 
To  hand  and  side. 

The  shadows  of  even  are  gone. 
Shut  are  the  day's  clear  flowers, 
Now  have  her  birds  left  mute 
Their  singing  bowers, 
Lone  shall  we  be,  we  twain, 
In  the  night  hours. 

Thou  with  thy  cheek  on  mine. 
And  dark  hair  loosed,  shalt  see 
Take  the  far  stars  for  fruit 
The  cypress  tree, 
And  in  the  yew*s  black 
Shall  the  moon  be. 

38 


The  Disguise  39 

We  will  tell  no  old  tales, 
Nor  heed  if  in  wandering  air 
Die  a  lost  song  of  love 
Or  the  once  fair; 
Still  as  well-water  be 
The  thoughts  we  share! 

And,  while  the  ghosts  keep 
Tryst  from  chill  sepulchres. 
Dreamless  our  gaze  shall  sleep, 
And  sealed  our  ears; 
Heart  unto  heart  will  speak. 
Without  tears. 

O,  thy  veiled,  lovely  face — 
Joy's  strange  disguise — 
Shall  be  the  last  to  fade 
From  these  rapt  eyes. 
Ere  the  first  dart  of  daybreak 
Pierce  the  skies. 


VAIN  QUESTIONING 

What  needest  thou? — a  few  brief  hours  of 

rest 
Wherein  to  seek  thyself  in  thine  own  breast; 
A  transient  silence  wherein  truth  could  say- 
Such  was   thy  constant  hope,   and   this  thy 
way? — 

O  burden  of  life  that  is 

A  livelong  tangle  of  perplexities ! 


What  seekest  thou? — a  truce  from  that  thou 

art; 
Some  steadfast  refuge  from  a  fickle  heart; 
Still  to  be  thou,  and  yet  no  thing  of  scorn, 
To  find  no  stay  here,  and  yet  not  forlorn? — 
O  riddle  of  life  that  is 
An  endless  war  'twixt  contrarieties. 
40 


Vain  Questioning  41 

Leave  this  vain  questioning.    Is  not  sweet  the 

rose? 
Sings  not  the  wild  bird  ere  to  rest  he  goes? 
Hath  not  in  miracle  brave  June  returned? 
Burns  not  her  beauty  as  of  old  it  burned? 
O  foolish  one  to  roam 
So  far  in  thine  own  mind  away  from 
home! 

Where  blooms  the  flower  when  her  petals  fade, 
Where  sleepeth  echo  by  earth's  music  made, 
Where  all  things  transient  to  the  changeless 

win, 
There  waits  the  peace  thy  spirit  dwelleth  in. 


VIGIL 

Dark  is  the  night, 

The  fire  burns  faint  and  low, 

Hours — days — years. 

Into  grey  ashes  go; 

I  strive  to  read. 

But  sombre  is  the  glow. 

Thumbed  are  the  pages, 
And  the  print  is  small ; 
Mocking  the  winds 
That  from  the  darkness  call; 
Feeble  the  fire  that  lends 
Its  light  withal. 

O  ghost,  draw  nearer; 
Let  thy  shadowy  hair. 
Blot  out  the  pages 
That  we  cannot  share; 
Be  ours  the  one  last  leaf 
By  Fate  left  bare ! 
4a 


I 


Vigil  43 

Let's  Finis  scrawl, 

And  then  Life's  book  put  by; 

Turn  each  to  each 

In  all  simplicity : 

Ere  the  last  flame  is  gone 

To  warm  us  by. 


THE  OLD  MEN 

Old  and  alone,  sit  we, 

Caged,  riddle-rid  men; 

Lost  to  earth's  '  Listen ! '  and  *  See ! ' 

Thought's  '  Wherefore?  '  and  '  When?  ' 

Only  far  memories  stray 
Of  a  past  once  lovely,  but  now- 
Wasted  and  faded  away. 
Like  green  leaves  from  the  bough. 

Vast  broods  the  silence  of  night. 
The  ruinous  moon 
Lifts  on  our  faces  her  light. 
Whence  all  dreaming  is  gone. 

We  speak  not;  trembles  each  head; 
In  their  sockets  our  eyes  are  still ; 
Desire  as  cold  as  the  dead ; 
Without  wonder  or  will. 
44 


The  Old  Men  45 

And  One,  with  a  lanthorn,  draws  near, 
At  clash  with  the  moon  in  our  eyes : 
*  Where  art  thou? '  he  asks:  *  I  am  here/ 
One  by  one  we  arise. 

And  none  lifts  a  hand  to  withhold 
A  friend  from  the  touch  of  that  foe: 
Heart  cries  unto  heart,  *  Thou  art  old!' 
Yet  reluctant,  we  go. 


THE  DREAMER 

O  Thou  who  giving  helm  and  sword, 
Gav*st,  too,  the  rusting  rain. 
And  starry  dark*s  all  tender  dews 
To  blunt  and  stain : 

Out  of  the  battle  I  am  sped. 
Unharmed,  yet  stricken  sore; 
A  living  shape  'mid  whispering  shades 
On  Lethe's  shore. 

No  trophy  in  my  hands  I  bring. 
To  this  sad,  sighing  stream. 
The  neighings  and  the  trumps  and  cries 
Were  but  a  dream — a  dream. 

Traitor  to  life,  of  life  betrayed — 
O,  of  thy  mercy  deep, 
A  dream  my  all,  the  all  I  ask 
Is  sleep. 


46 


HAPPY  ENGLAND 

Now  each  man's  mind  all  Europe  is : 
Boding  and  fear  in  dread  array 

Daze  every  heart:  O  grave  and  wise, 
Abide  in  hope  the  judgment  day. 

This  war  of  miUions  in  arms 

In  myriad  repHca  we  wage; 
Unmoved,  then.  Soul,  by  earth's  alarms 

The  dangers  of  the  dark  engage. 

Remember  happy  England :  keep 

For  her  bright  cause  thy  latest  breath; 

Her  peace  that  long  hath  lulled  to  sleep. 
May  now  exact  the  sleep  of  death. 

Her  woods  and  wilds,  her  loveliness, 
With  harvest  now  are  richly  at  rest; 

Safe  in  her  isled  securities. 
Thy  children's  heaven  is  her  breast. 

47 


48  Happy  England 

O  what  a  deep  contented  night 

The  sun  from  out  her  Eastern  seas 

Would  bring  the  dust  which  in  her  sight 
Had  given  its  all  for  these! 


I 


MOTLEY 

Come,  Death,  Vd  have  a  word  with  thee; 

And  thou,  poor  Innocency; 

And  Love — a  lad  with  broken  wing; 

And  Pity,  too : 

The  Fool  shall  sing  to  you, 

As  Fools  will  sing. 

Ay,  music  hath  small  sense, 

And  a  tune's  soon  told, 

And  Earth  is  old, 

And  my  poor  wits  are  dense; 

Yet  have  I  secrets, — dark,  my  dear. 

To  breathe  you  all :  Come  near. 

And  lest  some  hideous  Hstener  tells, 

I'll  ring  my  bells. 

They're  all  at  war! — 
Yes,  yes,  their  bodies  go 
'Neath  burning  sun  and  icy  star 
jTo  chaunted  songs  of  woe, 

49 


50  Motley 

Dragging  cold  cannon  through  a  mire 
Of  rain  and  blood  and  spouting  fire, 
The  new  moon  glinting  hard  on  eyes 
Wide  with  insanities! 

Hush !   .    .    .  I  use  words 

I  hardly  know  the  meaning  of ; 

And  the  mute  birds 

Are  glancing  at  Love 

From  out  their  shade  of  leaf  and  flower, 

Trembling  at  treacheries 

Which  even  in  noonday  cower. 

Heed,  heed  not  what  I  said 

Of  frenzied  hosts  of  men, 

More  fools  than  I, 

On  envy,  hatred  fed. 

Who  kill,  and  die — 

Spake  I  not  plainly,  then  ? 

Yet  Pity  whispered,  '  Why  ?  ' 

Thou  silly  thing,  off  to  thy  daisies  go. 

Mine  was  not  news  for  child  to  know. 

And  Death — no  ears  hath.     He  hath  supped 

where  creep 
Eyeless  worms  in  hush  of  sleep; 


Motley  51 

Yet,  when  he  smiles,  the  hand  he  draws 

Athwart  his  grinning  jaws — 

Faintly   the   thin   bones    rattle,    and — There, 

there ; 
Hearken  how  my  bells  in  the  air 
Drive  away  care !   .    .    . 


Nay,  but  a  dream  I  had 

Of  a  world  all  mad. 

Not  simple  happy  mad  like  me. 

Who  am  mad  like  an  empty  scene 

Of  water  and  willow  tree. 

Where  the  wind  hath  been; 

But  that  foul  Satan-mad, 

Who  rots  in  his  own  head. 

And  counts  the  dead. 

Not  honest  one — and  two — 

But  for  the  ghosts  they  were. 

Brave,  faithful,  true. 

When,  head  in  air. 

In  Earth's  clear  green  and  blue 

Heaven  they  did  share 

With  beauty  who  bade  them  there. 


52i  Motley 

There,  now!    Death  goes — - 
Mayhap  I've  wearied  him. 
Ay,  and  the  light  doth  dim, 
And  asleep's  the  rose, 
And  tired  Innocence 
In  dreams  is  hence.   ... 
Come,  Love,  my  lad. 
Nodding  that  drowsy  head, 
'Tis  time  thy  prayers  were  said! 


THE  MARIONETTES 

Let  the  foul  Scene  proceed : 
There's  laughter  in  the  wings; 

Tis  sawdust  that  they  bleed, 
But  a  box  Death  brings. 

How  rare  a  skill  is  theirs 

These  extreme  pangs  to  show, 

How  real  a  frenzy  wears 
Each  feigner  of  woe! 

Gigantic  dins  uprise ! 

Even  the  gods  must  feel 
A  smarting  of  the  eyes 

As  these  fumes  upsweal. 

Strange,  such  a  Piece  is  free. 
While  we  Spectators  sit, 

Aghast  at  its  agony. 
Yet  absorbed  in  it! 

53 


54  The  Marionettes 

Dark  is  the  outer  air, 

Coldly  the  night  draughts  blow. 
Mutely  we  stare,  and  stare 

At  the  frenzied  Show. 

Yet  heaven  hath  its  quiet  shroud 
Of  deep,  immutable  blue — 

We  cry  '  An  end ! '    We  are  bowed 
By  the  dread,  'Tis  true!* 

While  the  Shape  who  hoofs  applause 
Behind  our  deafened  ear. 

Hoots — angel-wise — '  the  Cause !  * 
And  affright  ev*n  fear. 


1 


TO  E.  T.:  19 1 7 

You  sleep  too  well — too  far  away, 

For  sorrowing  word  to  soothe  or  wound ; 

Your  very  quiet  seems  to  say 

How  longed-for  a  peace  you  have  found. 

Else,  had  not  death  so  lured  you  on, 

You    would    have    grieved — 'twixt    joy    and 

fear — 
To  know  how  my  small  loving  son 
Had  wept  for  you,  my  dear. 


55 


APRIU  MOON 

Roses  are  sweet  to  smell  and  see. 

And  lilies  on  the  stem ; 
But  rarer,  stranger  buds  there  be, 

And  she  was  like  to  them. 

The  little  moon  that  April  brings, 
More  lovely  shade  than  light, 

That,  setting,  silvers  lonely  hills 
Upon  the  verge  of  night — 

Close  to  the  world  of  my  poor  heart 

So  stole  she,  still  and  clear; 
Now  that  she*s  gone,  O  dark,  and  dark, 

The  solitude — ^the  fear. 


I 


56 


THE  FOOL'S  SONG 

Never,  no  never,  listen  too  long. 
To  the  chattering  wind  in  the  willows,  the 
night  bird's  song. 

Tis  sad  in  sooth  to  lie  under  the  grass, 
But  none  too  gladsome  to  wake  and  grow  cold 
where  life's  shadows  pass. 

Dumb  the  old  Toll-Woman  squats, 
And,  for  every  green  copper  battered  and  worn, 
doles  out  Nevers  and  Nots. 

I  know  a  Blind  Man,  too, 
Who  with  a  sharp  ear  listens  and  listens  the 
whole  world  through. 

Oh,  sit  we  snug  to  our  feast, 
With  platter  and  finger  and  spoon — and  good 
victuals  at  least. 


57 


CLEAR  EYES 

Clear  eyes  do  dim  at  last, 
And  cheeks  outlive  their  rose. 
Time,  heedless  of  the  past. 
No  loving-kindness  knows; 
Chill  unto  mortal  lip 
Still  Lethe  flows. 

Griefs,  too,  but  brief  while  stay. 
And  sorrow,  being  o'er, 
Its  salt  tears  shed  away, 
Woundeth  the  heart  no  more. 
Stealthily  lave  those  waters 
That  solemn  shore. 

Ah,  then,  sweet  face  burn  on, 
While  yet  quick  memory  lives! 
And  Sorrow,  ere  thou  art  gone. 
Know  that  my  heart  forgives — : 
Ere  yet,  grown  cold  in  peace, 
It  loves  not,  nor  grieves. 
S8 


.^100^^%^ 


DUST  TO  DUST 

Heavenxy  Archer,  bend  thy  bow; 
Now  the  flame  of  life  burns  low, 
Youth  is  gone;  I,  too,  would  go. 

Ever  Fortune  leads  to  this: 
Harsh  or  kind,  at  last  she  is 
Murderess  of  all  ecstasies. 

Yet  the  spirit,  dark,  alone. 
Bound  in  sense,  still  hearkens  on 
For  tidings  of  a  bliss  foregone. 

Sleep  is  well  for  dreamless  head, 

At  no  breath  astonished. 

From  the  Gardens  of  the  Dead. 

I  the  immortal  harps  hear  ring. 
By  Babylon's  river  languishing. 
Heavenly  Archer,  loose  thy  string. 


59 


THE  THREE  STRANGERS 

Far  are  those  tranquil  hills, 
Dyed  with  fair  evening's  rose; 
On  urgent,  secret  errand  bent, 
A  traveller  goes. 

Approach  him  strangers  three, 
Barefooted,  cowled;  their  eyes 
Scan  the  lone,  hastening  solitary 
With  dumb  surmise. 

One  instant  in  close  speech 
With  them  he  doth  confer: 
God-sped,  he  hasteneth  on, 
That  anxious  traveller  .    .    . 

I  was  that  man — in  a  dream : 
And  each  world's  night  in  vain 
I  patient  wait  on  sleep  to  unveil 
Those  vivid  hills  again. 
60 


The  Three  Strangers  6i 

Would  that  they  three  could  know 
How  yet  burns  on  in  me 
Love — from  one  lost  in  Paradise — 
For  their  grave  courtesy. 


ALEXANDER 

It  was  the  Great  Alexander, 
Capped  with  a  golden  helm, 
Sate  in  the  ages,  in  his  floating  ship, 
In  a  dead  calm. 

Voices  of  sea-maids  singing 
Wandered  across  the  deep: 
The  sailors  labouring  on  their  oars 
Rowed,  as  in  sleep. 

All  the  high  pomp  of  Asia, 
Charmed  by  that  siren  lay, 
Out  of  their  weary  and  dreaming  minds, 
Faded  away. 

Like  a  bold  boy  sate  their  Captain, 
His  glamour  withered  and  gone, 
In  the  souls  of  his  brooding  mariners. 
While  the  song  pined  on. 
62 


Alexander  63 

Time,  like  a  falling  dew, 
Life,  like  the  scene  of  a  dream. 
Laid  between  slumber  and  slumber, 
Only  did  seem.   .    .    . 

O  Alexander,  then, 
In  all  us  mortals  too. 
Wax  thou  not  bold — too  bold 
On  the  wave  dark-blue! 

Come  the  calm,  infinite  night, 
Who  then  will  hear 
Aught  save  the  singing 
Of  the  sea-maids  clear? 


I 


THE  REAWAKENING 

Green  in  light  are  the  hills,  and  a  calm  wind 

flowing 
Filleth  the  void  with  a  flood  of  the  fragrance 

of  Spring; 
Wings  in  this  mansion  of  life  are  coming  and 

going, 
Voices  of  unseen  loveliness  carol  and  sing. 

Coloured  with  buds  of  delight  the  boughs  are 

swaying, 
Beauty  walks  in  the  woods,  and  wherever  she 

rove 
Flowers  from  wintry  sleep,  her  enchantment 

obeying, 
Stir  in  the  deep  of  her  dream,  reawaken  to 

love. 

Oh,  now  begone  sullen  care — this  light  is  my 

seeing ; 
I  am  the  palace,  and  mine  are  its  windows  and 

walls  ; 

64 


The  Reawakening  65 

Daybreak  is  come,  and  life  from  the  darkness 

of  being 
Springs,  like  a  child  from  the  womb,  when  the 

lonely  one  calls. 


THE  VACANT  DAY 

As  I  did  walk  in  meadows  green 
I  heard  the  summer  noon  resound 

With  call  of  myriad  things  unseen 

That  leapt  and  crept  upon  the  ground. 

High  overhead  the  windless  air 

Throbbed  with  the  homesick  coursing  cry 
Of  swallows  that  did  everywhere 

Wake  echo  in  the  sky. 

Beside  me,  too,  clear  waters  coursed 
Which  willow  branches,  lapsing  low, 

Breaking  their  crystal  gliding  forced 
To  sing  as  they  did  flow.     , 

I  listened;  and  my  heart  was  dumb 

With  praise  no  language  could  express; 

Longing  in  vain  for  him  to  come 
Who  had  breathed  such  blessedness. 

66 


^ 


The  Vacant  Day  67 

On  this  fair  world,  wherein  we  pass 
So  chequered  and  so  brief  a  stay; 

And  yearned  in  spirit  to  learn,  alas. 
What  kept  him  still  away. 


k 


THE  FLIGHT 

How  do  the  days  press  on,  and  lay 
Their  fallen  locks  at  evening  down, 
Whileas  the  stars  in  darkness  play 
And  moonbeams  weave  a  crown — 

A  crown  of  flower-like  light  in  heaven, 
Where  in  the  hollow  arch  of  space 
Morn's  mistress  dreams,  and  the  Pleiads  seven 
Stand  watch  about  her  place. 

Stand  watch — O  days  no  number  keep 
Of  hours  when  this  dark  clay  is  blind. 
When  the  world's  clocks  are  dumb  in  sleep 
'Tis  then  I  seek  my  kind. 


68  I 


THE  TWO  HOUSES 

In  the  strange  city  of  Life 

Two  houses  I  know  well : 
One  wherein  Silence  a  garden  hath, 

And  one  where  Dark  doth  dwell. 

Roof  unto  roof  they  stand, 

Shadowing  the  dizzied  street, 
Where  Vanity  flaunts  her  gilded  booths 

In  the  noontide  glare  and  heat. 

Green-graped  upon  their  walls 

An  ancient  hoary  vine 
Hath  clustered  their  carven,  lichenous  stones 

With  tendril  serpentine. 

And  ever  and  anon, 

Dazed  in  that  clamorous  throng, 
I  thirst  for  the  soundless  fount  that  stills 

Those  orchards  mute  of  song. 
69 


JO  The  Two  Houses 

Knock,  knock,  nor  knock  in  vain: 

Heart  all  thy  secrets  tell 
Where  Silence  a  fast-sealed  garden  hath. 

Where  Dark  doth  dwell. 


FOR  ALL  THE  GRIEF 

For  all  the  grief  I  have  given  with  words 
May  now  a  few  clear  flowers  blow. 
In  the  dust,  and  the  heat,  and  the  silence  of 
birds, 

Where  the  lonely  go. 

For  the  thing  unsaid  that  heart  asked  of  me 
Be  a  dark,  cool  water  calling — calling 
To  the  footsore,  benighted,  solitary, 

When  the  shadows  are  falling. 

O,  be  beauty  for  all  my  blindness, 
A  moon  in  the  air  where  the  weary  wend, 
And  dews  burdened  with  loving-kindness 
In  the  dark  of  the  end. 


'^'^'iJ'SfelSm^.. 


THE  SCRIBE 

What  lovely  things 
Thy  hand  hath  made : 
The  smooth-plumed  bird 
In  its  emerald  shade. 
The  seed  of  the  grass, 
The  speck  of  stone 
Which  the  wayfaring  ant 
Stirs — and  hastes  on! 

Though  I  should  sit 

By  some  tarn  in  thy  hills, 

Using  its  ink 

As  the  spirit  wills 

To  write  of  Earth's  wonders, 

Its  live,  willed  things, 

Flit  would  the  ages 

On  soundless  wings 

Ere  unto  Z 

72 


The  Scribe  73 

My  pen  drew  nigh; 
Leviathan  told, 
And  the  honey-fly : 
And  still  would  remain 
My  wit  to  try — 
My  worn  reeds  broken, 
The  dark  tarn  dry, 
All  words  forgotten — 
Thou,  Lord,  and  I. 


FARE  WELL 

When  I  lie  where  shades  of  darkness 
Shall  no  more  assail  mine  eyes, 
Nor  the  rain  make  lamentation 

When  the  wind  sighs; 
How  will  fare  the  world  whose  wonder 
Was  the  very  proof  of  me? 
Memory  fades,  must  the  remembered 

Perishing  be? 

Oh,  when  this  my  dust  surrenders 
Hand,  foot,  lip,  to  dust  again. 
May  these  loved  and  loving  faces 

Please  other  men ! 
May  the  rusting  harvest  hedgerow 
Still  the  Traveller's  Joy  entwine, 
And  as  happy  children  gather 
Posies  once  mine. 

74 


Fare  Well 


75 


Look  thy  last  on  all  things  lovely, 

Every  hour.    Let  no  night 

Seal  thy  sense  in  deathly  slumber 

Till  to  delight 
Thou  have  paid  thy  utmost  blessing; 
Since  that  all  things  thou  wouldst  praise 
Beauty  took  from  those  who  loved  them 

In  other  days. 


^^*??!P^i»s*«t*»...., 


BY      WALTER      DE      LA      MARE 

PEACOCK  PIE 

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